


two would know | ʍouʞ plnoʍ oʍʇ

by test_kard_girl



Category: Legion (TV), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Bad Science, Character Study, Gen, Middle School, Mutant Powers, Other, Pre-Canon, Pre-show, Protective Siblings, X-Men References, schooldays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-23 00:54:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14320959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/test_kard_girl/pseuds/test_kard_girl
Summary: A short(ish) character exploration of Cary/Kerry, and how mutant powers-- coupled with well-developed rejection issues and a tendency to blow stuff up-- really don't make Middle School any easier.Set pre-show. Like, forty years pre-show. Cary's eleven in this, so Kerry's probably slightly younger.So sue me, I love these two.





	two would know | ʍouʞ plnoʍ oʍʇ

Cary is doing the breathing thing that Nurse Adler and every other well-meaning adult has recommended him for panic attacks, but–turns out–it doesn't work so good for actual _physical_ attacks, 'cos the hospital corridor is still rippling around him like a dream sequence and he keeps getting flashes of scrub-grass--FLASH--and polar blue sky-- FLASH-- and boys screaming like shot pigs, and-- FLASH-- the two-point-five seconds it took for Viccie's lips to turn _purple_ and

and

and--

'–Well what am I _meant_ to say, huh?'

And he's talking out loud 'cos Kerry won't answer him. Stubborn, sullen, silent; buried somewhere in the pit of his stomach, and he knows it makes him look like a crazy person but--

In, 2, 3, 4; out, 2, 3, 4; in, 2 , 3, 4--

He buries his face in his hands: 'Ohhh We are in _so_ much trouble...' He mutters.

'CARY!'

Shit.

 

**X**

 

_I thought we were doing something fun_

' _I'm_ having fun.' Cary returns lightly, carefully slicing the top from another empty pop can with the well-worn blade of his Swiss Army knife. '...A good time doesn't always mean, y'know, setting stuff on fire...'

_Uh-huh. I guess there's six grams of Sodium in our pencil box in case we run outta table salt._

Cary ignores a flush of guilt:

'...Shuddup, that's for class.'

September is awful. It's always been awful, as far back as Cary can remember. There are too many kids about and sweaty, irritable grown-ups; the neighborhood sidewalks are covered in chalky doodles and half-circles of spray from lawn sprinklers, and it's been five weeks and six days since the last rainfall and Cary knows this precisely because 1) he's kind of weird about keeping track of weather patterns right now, and 2) the late summer sun is crappy on his eczema but his mom keeps kicking him out of the house 'cos she likes to be alone when she's staring listlessly out the kitchen window.

So, anyway: it's natural now for him now to take the detour on the way home, over the probably-dangerously rotten bridge and under the fence around the projects into the dusty no-man's land that hasn't been bricked over yet, full of scratchy weeds and the occasional rusting kitchen appliance, and empty the contents of his book bag in the shade of the trees, tinkering around with the projects and theories in the science textbooks he borrows in bulk from the library.

Kerry likes the fresh air too. Every once in a while she slips out from under his skin, turning cartwheels in the scrub grass; clambering up the trees with agility like Cary can't even believe, so fast it makes him nervous, scared she'll got lost; scared she'll decide she doesn't want to come back. Sometimes though, she just lays on her stomach and watches him work, kicking her heels together in those chunky white boots she saw in his mom's Sears catalog, and Cary worries he's boring her until he glances over and sees the rapt attention in her dark eyes.

 _What is it?_ Kerry asks flatly, as Cary finishes taping the aluminium cans into a stout, short tube, balancing it precariously over the gap between _Fundamentals of Microbiology Vol. IV_ and Asimov's _Choice of Catastrophes_.

'Ah, just your basic solar updraft tower. Elementary school model.' He smiles vaguely, fixing an uncurled paperclip into the symmetrical holes either side of the cylinder, and a plastic pinwheel from a de-constructed garden ornament on top of that.

'I mean, aluminium's good...' He muses 'but really what we want is some kind of plastic...' he grins as the pinwheel on top starts to spin, lazily at first and then faster, a tiny breath of air in the cloying summer heat. '...Cool, right?'

_It's a fan_

'-No, it's- not meant...look-' Cary scrabbles about till he finds the bottle of dish-soap in his bag, gives it a shake. He extracts a soapy plastic straw, twisted into a loop, holds it close over the plastic pinwheel. It takes a minute. And then...

 _You are such a weirdo_ Kerry pronounces, as filmy rainbow-tinted bubbles morph into life, drifting upwards in the pinwheel's lazy air-stream. But she's smiling. Cary can feel it on his skin: a kind of bright golden prickling, just like the sun, even here under the trees.

_...So, bubbles?_

Cary lifts an awkward shoulder: 'Well, yeah, but - it's nice right? I mean, to get any real power out of it the tower'd need to be much higher and...' Struck by inspiration he twists around, eyeing the frame of his bike with sudden curiosity: 'the space arou...' he pushes his glasses up his nose:

'...Oh crap.'

Three gangling figures have resolved back into sharp focus, striding across the dusty no-man's land straight towards him:

'Hey, Dairy Queen!'

Viccie Rankine. Eighth Grade. Grew like four inches over the summer, vertical and horizontal. Almost got sent to juvie last semester for holding Pete Sommerville's face under a garden hose until his nose broke.

Or something.

Cary makes a face. 'Oh that's outstandingly original...' He mutters; but you bet he's climbing to his feet; checking his exits. Yup: twenty meters to the fence.

_Running? Again?_

'You _want_ me to get my nose broken?'

 

**X**

 

'Mom!'

His mom is striding through the sun-soaked hospital lobby, hair flying behind her, skin pale aside from the red burned into her cheeks and the absolute, total fury in her eyes. Cary can feel it radiating from her comparable to, like, some kind of supernova, and he's slipped off his hard plastic hospital chair and backed halfway down the corridor before he can stop himself, throwing his hands up.

'Course, she's alot bigger than her eleven year old son, and her fingers close easily around Cary's skinny arm, wrenching him back to her:

'What did you do? Cary, _what did you do?!--_ '

'–I'm I'm sorry, mom, I-I didn't mean, I didn't--'

'–Oh god Cary, don't you _dare_ tell me it was an accident, I've told you not to take all that s-'

'-It was! It was an-an accident, I didn't, I didn't mean t...he-he-he had- there were _three_ of them mom and I just, mom-'

She shakes him. Hard.

'Cary! Just. Tell me. What. Happened--'

'--I wasn't doing anything!' Cary protests and hates how whiny his voice sounds; _what a loser_ : 'I was just...A-and Viccie and he, he _hates_ me mom, you _know_ he hates me! And--'

He's cut off by his mom suddenly dropping to her knees and clutching her arms around him so tight his glasses start cutting into the bridge of his nose.

 

**X**

 

'—Who you talkin' to, Dairy Queen?'

Flanking Viccie, Mikey Collins and Henry da Costa snicker, wolf-whistle.

Kerry isn't smiling anymore. Cary feels her fingers curling into fists.

'I'm ignoring them.' He reminds her lightly, trying to stuff all his belongings back into his book bag and dodge out of spitting range as casually as possible. 'Sticks and stones you know.'

_Sticks and stones could probably break your bones_

'Well thanks for that vote of confidence.'

'Loudermilk!' Viccie calls again, two metres behind him, and Cary thinks he might just get away this time, until the bigger boy looms into his eyeline, snatching Cary's rucksack out of his hands, turning it upside down and shaking.

'...Aw c'mon, I was just- I was just... going...' He protests weakly, as all his belongings bounce away in the dust. Viccie gives the bag a final shake and tosses it back to the ground.

Cary stands very still, watching Henry and Mikey start kicking at his stuff. Viccie pulls a Tongue Painter lolly out of his mouth, showing blue-stained teeth:

'Tryin' to make a break for it, Fairy?'

'Just, tryin' to get home.' Cary replies 'I-It's dinner-time.'

Viccie makes a derisive noise that sounds way older than he is; copied off some cop show.

'Like your mom has her mouth round anything these days 'cept my dad's dick.' He crows, immediately turning to Mikey and Henry for their whooping animal-noises of approval. 'You know they're banging again, right?' he announces; like it's some big secret; like it's not the reason Viccie's spent the last three weeks chucking bottles at passing cars.

(Cary has his feet firmly planted in the stance of just... not thinking about it.)

He tries hard to hold Viccie's gaze, skin prickling hot all over. '...Doubt it.' He lies flatly, crossing his arms tight over his chest.

_You could hit him y'know, he's not fast. He's stupid. You know he's stupid_

'He's not.'

'What?'

'They're not.' He enunciates, clear as he can. Flinches as Henry screws up one of Cary's de-constructed pop cans in his big hands and lobs it past his ear.

'What, like she's got better things to do?' Viccie's steps closer, stinking of stale sweat and popsicles. Crosses doodled onto his forearms in blue biro. 'Isn't asshole trailer trash totally her type?'

 

**X**

 

(The thing with Viccie: this is what made them kind of friends, back in elementary school. Viccie's mom had left and Cary's dad, and they both spent too much time sitting on their doorsteps, making their own lunches. Viccie's dad was drunk most of the time. They'd sit in the playground at lunch and Viccie'd show off the bruises on his arms and legs with pride and glitter in his eyes, while Cary-- yeah, you guessed it—stayed in the science labs after school and made friends with the janitors.

Thinking about it; y'know, later—a good thirty years later, after Oliver had finally been swallowed up by the dark hole he'd been threatening to tip into since he was nineteen— it's probably kind of a pattern, with him. Friendships that are all bright shining rightness until they explode in flames and gasoline some hot Summer evening. He should listen to Kerry; she's always been a way better judge of character than he is.)

 

**X**

 

'Hey, I bet that's what all this shit's for,' Henry chimes in, and Cary can basically hear the effort of the one brain cell in his head splitting in two and performing some primitive thought processes. He sneers, picking up a length of copper cabling and waving it around the crotch of his pants. 'You building yourself a new daddy Loudermilk?'

The boys laugh, Viccie spraying blue sugary spittle all over the front of Cary's shirt.

Cary bites his mouth shut; starts counting backwards from ten in his head.

'...Are-are you done?' He enquires. And he guesses it maybe it comes out more belligerent than planned (Kerry is not counting backwards from ten) 'cos suddenly Viccie is spitting the nub of his lollipop at Cary's sneakers and the chewed up paper stick is bouncing off his forehead.

'No, I'm not _done_. You're getting too clever, Brainiac.' He warns. 'You're making us all look bad—You're making _me_ look bad. My daddy's beating my ass every night 'cos you're too fucking brainy. How's that fair? Huh?' Cary flinches away as the other boy rattles his knuckles against his left temple. 'How's that fair—?'

'—It's no--'

'—Right. It's not. So how hard do I need to smash your head off the sidewalk before you're down taking remedial chem like the rest of us rednecks?'

_Cary let me--_

'No, don't—Viccie look, look look...' Cary puts up his palms; freaks out a bit when he sees the second set of ten fingers threatening to slip out from under his own. 'Don't...It's--

_Stupid idea_

'...It's an organic combustion engine.'

A pause.

Viccie screws his face up, so the sunburn across forehead flakes a bit: '...Y'what?'

'The...What I was making?' Cary gestures kinda desperately towards the trinkets and textbooks scattered across the spiky grass underfoot.

'I don't give a--'

'–Just. I can show you, it's...stupid simple, and you can make it for your science fair project and...and I won't say anything. You can have it, ok?'

Cary doesn't dare blink, holding Viccie's piggy-eyed gaze. It's like facing down a gorilla or something. _Geez,_ a dinosaur. From the corner of his eye he can see Mikey calmly tearing pages one-by-one out of the Cary's plastic-backed library copy of _Evolution: The Modern Synthesis_ , but still: no blinking.

_Look_

'I--It's not just...it's all there—I can show you.'

The other boy narrows his eyes, calculating. In the heartbeat behind his, Kerry holds her breath, wound tight as clockwork.

Viccie sniffs, hard: 'Go on then.'

_Oh you're kidding me_

 

**X**

 

For a long moment, they just breathe. And breathe.

And breathe.

...It works way better than Nurse Adler's thing.

Footsteps hurry past them in the corridor. Tinny tanoy announcements. The rattle of creaky metal gurneys.

It's weird. He can feel her shaking too: Kerry; her skin under his. And he can see his own pale fingers clutched in the back of his mom's hair. Brown-red bloodstains still streaking his knuckles.

_...I didn't_

'... mean it,' Cary whispers miserably into his mom's shoulder, 'I didn't mean-'

'I know. I know.' She presses the side of her head against his and Cary squeezes his eyes shut before any tears get out. 'But, _shit,_ Cary...'

He feels her inhale a long, shaking breath through her nose.

 

**X**

 

'Ok. Ok, I need—' Cary gestures towards the can of Coca-Cola—the one his parched mouth could totally do with right about now—sparkling in the late afternoon sun.

Mikey's brow contorts like a snake on his forehead:

'Hey, no playin' around.'

Cary shakes his head so hard it feels like it might fall off.

'No. No, I just need that, and...' His eyes sweep the scrub, trying to keep the panic off his face. _'That—_ by your shoe, down...' The little packet of Sodium fragments; fallen out when his pencil box smashed open on the ground.

Henry grins, bending down to pick it up.

'Hey what's this Dairy Queen? You dealing?' He whistles, waving the tiny baggie in his face.

'No, it's...it's...'

_Potassium Nitrate_

'...Potassium Nitrate.'

'Oooh, stealing from school now?'

'I...it... Not really.'

He looks back at Viccie; wilts a bit at the tiny narrowing of his eyes.

'Hold this.' Before he can think about it too much (always a danger) Cary cracks open the soda can and passes it to the other boy with hands that are actually, properly, definitely shaking.

'...So, it's- it's sugar,' he explains, flattening his voice into something with absolutely no emotive inflections at all 'I mean, there's sugar in there, a _ton..._ It's a disaccharide that's, um, it contains both glucose _and_ fructose and the bubbles, that's Carbon Dioxide—'

Viccie looks suspiciously at the soda can. '...Do I care?'

Cary feels his eyelid twitch: 'Well the thing with science fairs, they kinda wanna know what you did--'

 _'–Viccie.'_ Mikey rolls his eyes. The Neanderthals are getting twitchy. 'Come on man, what the fuck?'

'—Shut-up.' Viccie snarls back. Cary clears his throat.

'Ok so. Um...Every kind of engine is powered by a chemical reaction...' He holds up the little packet of fake KNO3. 'You know that's, creation of energy, heat, light, so on, and... energy can't go anywhere it just _transfers_ from one body to another so the energy produced by a reaction between chemicals can be harnessed--'

_Cary_

'—okay okay, so, you just add, just, a tiny—'

'Into the soda.' Viccie sounds sceptical. Cary does the most impassive face he's capable of.

'Yeah... Ok?'

'...Yeah.'

Cary glances at Viccie's scrunched-up brow. Drops the Sodium into the Coke.

The two boys stare at the soda can.

And stare.

A bit more staring.

Cary's pretty sure he's cutting open his palm with his own fingernails.

'...Give it a minute.'

'...Shit.' Viccie tries to shift his grip; like Cary knew he would.

_Five_

His eyes are getting wide. He looks up: 'Why's it hot?'

'It's ok, it's just--' Cary nods, a bit frantic now. So frantic he almost smiles: '–all the energy?'

_Four; three_

'Fuck, it's--'

_Two_

' _Fuck_ —'

Cary doesn't even wait till the can properly explodes. Kerry's says ' _one_ ', and he's running-- _running,_ aw crap—fast as he ever has, in a straight line, straight to the fence; and he's no runner but—

—The bang of the soda can and the three boys shrieking in fright mingles into one unexpectedly beautiful harmony.

_Runrunrunrun_

' _Kerry._..'

He can't believe he's getting away with this.

'Shitshitshitshitshit...'

_Run, idiot!_

Cary pounds through the dust, only seeing the fence ahead, the fence, one fence-post and the three vertical slats...He can get over that. He can get over that and, sure, his house keys were in his bag but—

_'Kerry!'_

_Yes_! She just laughs, fierce; happy.

And then he hears it; the feet pounding after him. Three sets of feet. Getting closer.

'Get back here you asshole! You fucking fairy! I'll fucking KILL YOU!'

_Run run run Cary run_

One fence-post, that one fence post, _fuck,_ come on oh god oh god--Don't, no--

'— _Kerry_!' And then his chin smashes against the ground, his knees, his elbows, his glasses go flying and Viccie's arms are locked around his legs and he's scrabbling for his hair, fingernails tearing at his skin.

Cary flails, desperately; throws his arms over his face and tries to get up, pull himself away, but Viccie is huge and so much stronger and he kicks and tries to twist out of his grip but the other boy's screaming at him, bellowing like an animal, and Cary can't hear anything except blood in his ears and sirens battering against his skull when suddenly-- a flash of black and all the air going out of him and—and, for a weirdly blissful second, all he can see is the bright blue of the sky and one curl of cloud just hanging over the town hall. Perfectly still.

There's a crunch as Kerry's foot connects with Viccie's face.

He doesn't scream though. He doesn't scream when he staggers backwards, blood pouring out from between his fingers. He doesn't scream when the tiny, furious, little girl takes hold of his wrist and his elbow and _twists_ , cracking his arm like a turkey wishbone and making him drop Cary's Swiss Army knife, clenched in his white-knuckled fist. And he doesn't scream when Kerry's knee finds his diaphragm, again and again; he just doubles over, collapsing onto his face, and that same Swiss Army Knife pushes easily through the taut flesh between his clavicle and his humerus and lodges there, slicing through his major glenohumeral like a knife through butter.

...That's when Mikey and Henry screaming.

 

**X**

 

'...Derek said there was two of you. You and some...Who else was there?'

Cary hesitates. Just for a second.

Then he shakes his head, black spots popping in front of his eyes. 'It was just...It was just me...'

'Cary.' His mom disentangles herself, holding him out at arms' length: 'This is serious, you get that?' He can see a whole circle of white haloing her dark eyes 'This is _serious._ Viccie's still bleeding Cary; _fuck_ \--' She rakes a shuddering hand back through her hair '--They think...You understand--?'

_Tell her, Just tell her--_

'– _No._ ' Cary snaps, shaking his head, even though he feels his stomach crunching and twisting up like a bottle in a vacuum 'It was just, it was just...'

'--there's no point in protecting anyone, okay?' His mom's fingers twist tight in his skin 'Viccie'll tell us who it was anyway so: who did this?'

_Tell her, tell her, I don't care--_

'— _Shut-up_ , shut-up I _know_ \--'

'For fuck's _sake_ , Cary!'

Cary stumbles from the sudden blow upside his temple.

'Stop—' His mom has her fingers pushed into the corners of her eyes, mouth thin and white: '— _talking to yourself_...'

 

**X**

 

(He tries. He really does try. After the thing with Viccie and...and all of that...Cary tries very hard to keep all the things he wants to say inside--and it's okay really, because Kerry can hear anyway. She could always hear. He doesn't know what he would do without her.

...Which is another pattern Melanie brings up when they go through that long Autumn of psycho-analysing each other; taking sides in the nature/nurture debate, behind closed doors very far away from the students, breaking into all the bottles aside from the ones they can't touch. The ones they'll keep on ice for a very long time.)

 

**X**

 

'I didn't wanna get you into trouble.'

'I know you didn't.'

Kerry's face is very still. A big swathe of black hair slicing her cheek. Cary can only see her in stripes. Black and white and black and white.

'I know you didn't.' He says again. He feels very tired. His legs are folded up under him and he doesn't think he has the energy to move them. He touches the side of his nose gingerly where Viccie's flailing elbow hit. It won't even bruise; not really.

'...They were hurting you.' Kerry murmurs, and she still sounds angry... But sad at the same time.

The silence around them feels gloopy. Too warm, sitting in this slant of evening sunlight. Behind Kerry's head dust motes scatter and swish and vanish. He used to think they were alive as well.

Slowly, Cary breathes out, falls back until he's spread out on the carpet. And _breathe_. Breathe. The inhale feels like sucking helium, head flooded with oxygen and light and music. When he breathes out his breath shakes and he's empty again.

And then. Kerry's there. Her head buried against his chest. Her skinny body curled fiercely around his. She doesn't really like hugs. She's not--

He squeezes her back, glasses pressing into the bridge of his nose:

'Your hair's—you've got so much hair, jeez—' Cary spits it clumsily out of his mouth, smoothing it away from his face and he feels the trembling quirk of Kerry's mouth against his t-shirt and catches his breath as he feels her re-absorb into him, meshing all their atoms together again, swirling her life back up with his.

_Sorry_

Carey wraps his arms around himself, curls his knees up to his chest, buries his face against the rough carpet.

'He deserved it.' He replies, softly. 'Bet ya. He won't try anything with us again.'

 

**X**

 

_Dear Mrs Loudermilk,_

_On 29 th October, Principal Alexandra Stone recommended that your son Cary Loudermilk be suspended pending expulsion from Fort Owen Middle School. On 12th October a hearing was conducted to investigate whether or not to uphold this recommendation._

_Evidenced at this hearing, information was admitted to the record specifying reasons for expulsion including:_

  * _Violent behaviour towards fellow pupils; especially indicating serious incident reported 23 rd September (detailed overleaf)_

  * _Theft and destruction of school property_

  * _Troubling tendencies towards mental disorientation and illness, resulting in the continued disruption of the learning of fellow students_




_Based on this evidence, a determination was made that the recommendation of Principal Stone to expel Cary Loudermilk be upheld. Cary's case will be forwarded to the School Board for an additional hearing on the recommendation and a final decision on whether or not Cary should be expelled._

_if you would like to appeal this recommendation, please contact Principal Stone directly to arrange an appointment._

 

_With regret,_

_Dr E. Priestly_

_(Chairman of Fort Owen Middle School Board)_

 

 


End file.
